Things We Never Admit
by alyells
Summary: Shortly after the tragic death of the beloved Professor Dumbledore, McGonagall and Harry share a night of reminiscing in her office. The two would never admit it, but they had a bond that could never be broken. MMAD if you look for it.


Title: Things We Never Admit

Time Period: Half Blood Prince, right after Dumbledore's death

Summary: Shortly after the tragic death of the beloved Professor Dumbledore, McGonagall and Harry share a night of reminiscing in her office. The two would never admit it, but they had a bond that could never be broken. No MMHG. Slight MMAD if you look hard enough.

'You know, Potter,' Minerva McGonagall said, her usually stern face soft and haunted, 'I'm here if you need to talk.' She blinked as though she might cry.

Harry stared at her for a moment, then turned on his heel and fled from the room. The heavy oak door slammed behind him, leaving McGonagall standing alone, the echoing bang reverberating off the walls. She sniffed and pulled her cloak more snuggly around her shoulders.

With a sigh she gazed around the room, taking in the presence of her late employer and friend, Albus Dumbledore. The room was the essence of him; slightly cluttered and unorganized, but with an air of intelligence and greatness that was not to be reckoned with. She blinked hard again, holding back the tears that were begging to spill from her eyes.

'Stop that,' she muttered sternly to herself. With one last, longing gaze about the room, McGonagall headed out the door and down the winding, circular staircase. When she got to the bottom, she held onto the stone gargoyle with one hand, and with the other, took off her black buckled shoes, as to not make any noise in the silent, mournful hallway.

Shoes in hand, she continued on her way to her office. Here and there, she stepped over bits of glass from the broken windows. It was eerily quiet on the grounds; everyone had gone home early. Final exams had been cancelled to pay respect to the beloved Headmaster. The Death Eaters were long gone. In the distance, Fawkes the Phoenix could be heard, crying in a beautiful sort of way.

After rounding the final corner, Professor McGonagall was relieved to finally be back in her office. She was surprised, however, to see Harry sitting against the wall outside her door. He had his head on his knees, and his whole body was racking with sobs. She brought up solid in front of him, and he didn't look up.

Minerva crouched down, readjusting her robes around her legs. She laid her shoes on the floor and a hand on Harry's shoulder. 'Potter,' she said softly. 'Why don't you come in?'

With McGonagall's help, Harry stood and walked into her office. She took her usual place behind the huge desk, and he his on the opposite side. He tried to hide his tears by staring at his feet. Droplets fell from his cheeks onto his lap. She watched him, feeling helpless for a moment, wishing for all the world she knew what to say.

She reached for the tartan cookie tin on her desk, and took of the lid. Holding it out, she offered it to Harry. 'Ginger newt, Potter?' she asked. He smiled weakly.

'No thanks, Professor,' he said politely, wiping his cheeks with the torn sleeve of his robe. 'Did y'know, every time I've ever been in your office, you've offered me a ginger newt.'

'It's only proper manners,' she said, taking a newt and closing the tin again. She bit off the tail and chewed slowly, thoughtfully. They sat in silence for another minute.

'I miss him, too,' she said, wiping the crumbs from her fingers and swallowing hard. A lump had risen in her throat. She tried swallowing again, but the lump stayed put, stubborn and not budging.

'It's not fair,' said Harry. 'He didn't have to – to go. I didn't know him. Not even at all. I thought I did, but now I know. There's so much…'

'You would have liked to ask him,' McGonagall finished for him. He nodded. 'I feel the same. I've known…I knew Albus for going on thirty years, and I feel like I hardly knew him. I suppose we all feel like that when we lose someone close.'

Harry shook his head. 'No, it's not like that. I _didn't _know him. All we ever talked about was me, Voldemort, my past, my present, my future.' Harry's voice had risen in volume. It was clear to Minerva he was hurting deeply. She frowned. 'It was all about me. Never about him.'

'He cared very much for you, Potter,' she said soothingly. 'He was trying to help you in the only way he knew how.'

'But why,' Harry asked, staring at her with such intensity that she had to look away, 'did he have to go so soon?' His voice broke.

'He didn't want to…'

'Of course he didn't,' Harry exclaimed, nearly yelling. 'But he's gone! I didn't even get a chance to say good bye. I was there, Professor! I could have helped, could have stopped it…'

'Potter,' McGonagall said calmly, 'you mustn't blame yourself. You couldn't have done anything –'

'I could've done _something_,' Harry snapped. He was taking his grief out on Professor McGonagall. They both knew it, and neither did anything to stop it.

'No,' she said sharply. 'You couldn't have. Don't have survivor's guilt, Potter. You'll only hurt yourself and those you love by taking all the blame on your shoulders.'

'Maybe I want to hurt,' he murmured softly.

McGonagall's eyes flashed dangerously. 'Don't be so foolish. No body _wants_ to hurt.' Harry stared at her, his green eyes watery with unshed tears. 'You may look like your father, Potter, but you -'

'Have my mum's eyes, I know,' Harry said quickly. McGonagall shook her head.

'Yes, but I was going to say, you have your mother's heart.' Harry's eyes brightened. 'She was always so kind, brave and courageous, but so soft.'

'I'm not soft,' Harry said indignantly.

'No, but you feel,' McGonagall said. 'You've been through so much, Harry, seen so much and hurt so much. I wish I could make things easier for you. I wish I could help; take away some of your pain.'

'You can't,' he said blandly.

'I know,' she replied sadly. 'Professor Dumbledore always thought highly of you, Potter. He made it quite obvious he favored you above all others.' Harry smiled slightly despite himself. The corners of McGonagall's mouth twitched. 'I never approved of the way he flaunted your relationship about. It could have gotten him in a lot of trouble, you know, if people found out how he treated you.'

'Why's that?'

'Raise funny questions and such nonsense.' McGonagall really smiled this time. It was small and rather sad, but Harry was surprised to see how young it made her look. 'But he was really fond of you.'

'I s'pose I felt the same about him,' Harry said, thinking. 'He was…' He trailed off again. What _was _Dumbledore to him? A father? A friend? A confidante? 'Special,' Harry finished.

Professor McGonagall nodded. 'That he was, Potter, that he was.'

'Did he really favour me?' Harry asked innocently. He was not digging for compliments, nor looking for an ego boost. He genuinely wanted to know.

'Indeed he did. And as I said, I didn't approve of it in the least.' Though McGonagall's voice was stern, a smile was still playing about her thin lips. 'He had his head in the clouds, that man.'

'Why didn't you approve?'

'Of his favoritism? Because it's unprofessional, and teachers aren't supposed to have favourites.'

'Oh,' Harry said. 'Do you have a favourite student?' He smiled impishly. Talking with McGonagall was making him feel much better. The lead weight that seemed to be sitting on his heart was lifting slightly, making it easier to breathe.

'What did I just say, Potter,' McGonagall retorted, slightly impatient. 'Teachers are not supposed to have favourites.'

'Yes,' Harry said slowly, 'but you just said, Dumbledore had a favourite, even though he wasn't supposed to. So, why couldn't you?'

This stopped McGonagall in her tracks. She glared at him suspiciously. 'Well, I suppose…Stop that, Potter,' she said shortly. 'I don't have favourites, and if I did, why would I tell you?'

Harry shrugged. Silence fell between them, and Fawkes' song reached their ears. The moon was shining brightly through the drapes on the window to McGonagall's left. She glanced toward it, and then back at Harry. He seemed to be lost in thought.

Harry looked up to see her staring at him. She didn't look away, but opened her mouth as if to say something. She closed it again, and shook her head.

'What, Professor?'

McGonagall took off her spectacles and cleaned them in the hem of her robe. She put them back on and inspected him. 'I was just wondering, Potter…In light of the current situation…Of course, Professor Dumbledore trusted me with just about everything…I don't know…Well, I suppose I must get on with it….The mission he left you. Would you be able to tell me what it is?'

Harry stared at her, not at all surprised that she had asked. In fact, he had been waiting for it all night, and had an answer ready. 'I know Professor Dumbledore must have trusted you, but considering the fact that he didn't tell you, and he never mentioned to me that _I_ should, I don't think I can tell you.'

'But Potter, Professor Dumbledore is gone. Surely, he must've mentioned it would be alright for you to tell_ me_, of all people, in case anything ever happened to him.' Harry shook his head. 'Well,' McGonagall said, looking affronted. 'If that's the way it has to be.'

'It is,' said Harry. 'Sorry, Professor. Really, I am.'

Her harsh look softened slightly. 'Nothing to worry about, Potter,' she said, brushing it off. If Dumbledore had intended Harry to discuss it with her, surely he would have mentioned it to one of them. He had trusted her. She was sure of it.

'Was it really Severus?' McGonagall asked, so quietly Harry wasn't sure if he had heard her correctly. He nodded.

Putting a hand over her heart, she stared down at her desk. 'Never in a million years did I think he'd do it.'

'Neither did I,' Harry said. 'I always knew he was a git, a slime ball and an all-around awful human being, but not a murderer.' Harry was impressed that McGonagall did not reprimand him for his blatant disrespect of her fellow professor. Instead, she nodded in an affirming manner.

'Don't forget a bloody old codger,' McGonagall added menacingly. Harry's mouth dropped open in surprise. She smiled. 'Don't look at me like that, Potter. I may have put up with him while we worked together, but I never once said I liked him.'

'You and I both,' Harry agreed. 'I'll never know what Dumbledore saw in him.'

So they were back to this topic. The lump that had so graciously left McGonagall's throat was back, feeling as though it had tripled in size. She swallowed again and again, trying to alleviate the discomfort. She coughed slightly into her hand.

Harry noticed the sudden change in atmosphere. For a while, they had been feeling back to normal, as if Harry had merely popped down for a visit, or been sent to the office of his Head of House for a stern talking-to after an out of bounds, late night stroll. But now, the sense of loss and dread that had been so mercifully lifted was back. They both felt it.

'He was a great man,' McGonagall said sadly. 'Didn't get to stay long enough; he always said he wanted to see Canada, and never got around to it. Sometimes the best of people have the shortest of lives. It's not fair at all.'

Harry nodded again in agreement. 'Were you close?' he asked in a small voice.

'In certain ways. He told me everything about everything, trusted me with his deepest secrets, but most of it was about school. And you,' she added as an afterthought. 'But I can't kid myself and pretend we knew everything about each other. No, not even the half. But I'd say he knew more about me than I did. He had a knack for knowing things.'

'He seemed to think highly of you, too,' Harry said kindly. 'Whenever he spoke about you, it was like you were the best thing since sliced bread.'

McGonagall looked puzzled. 'Sliced bread?'

'It's a Muggle expression.'

'Oh.' McGonagall's attempt to change the subject failing, she said, 'Really?'

'Yeah,' said Harry. 'He thought you were great.' Even in the dim light of the very, very early morning, Harry could see McGonagall turn slightly pink.

'Well,' she said briskly, clearing her throat. 'I'd like to get some sleep, Potter, as I'm sure you would as well. I wouldn't doubt Mr Weasley and Ms Granger are awaiting your return by the cozy fire. Off to bed, I suppose.' She stood, staring at him expectantly.

He also rose, but his gaze lingered on her for a moment. She seemed strangely more human, more tangible than before. It was as if the student-teacher barrier had been broken as they grieved for a common soul. Harry was hesitant, but McGonagall did not move. Instead, she stared at him in a way that was not intimidating, but inviting and kind. As she moved around the edge of the desk, he did the same, coming close.

She hung her arms at her side, and waited. Harry inched closer, daring. She wondered if he was about to attempt something she had been longing for, for who knows how long. And, indeed he did. Harry stepped forward again, closing the uncertain gap between them and put his arms around her slender waist. He laid his head on top of hers, and she was surprised to find that he was much taller than she. Her arms went around his broad shoulders. He had grown so much in the past five years. The tears filled her eyes, and as quickly as they had embraced, they broke apart.

McGonagall stepped backwards slightly. She cleared her throat, willing herself not to cry. A single tear tricked down her wrinkled cheek, and her thin lips were curved upwards.

'Good night, Harry,' she said softly.

'G'night, Professor,' he returned, going to the door. Before it shut, he poked his head round. 'Professor?'

She stood in the same position he had just left her in, a look of mild bewilderment and pleasure on her face. 'Potter?'

'Thanks.'

'For what?'

'Listening, I guess.' He still waited.

'Not a problem.'

'Y'know what?'

'What, Potter,' she said, half amused, have irritated.

'You're _my_ favourite.' The door closed, and McGonagall didn't try and hold back the tears any longer. They poured down her cheeks and into the neck of her robes, warm and fast. The grief she had been feeling since the dreadful incident mere hours ago rose with the early morning sun, bright and painful though it was.

'And you, mine, Potter,' she whispered to herself.


End file.
